


About Fucking Time

by agoodtuckering



Series: Carving A New Life [7]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Romance, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: Things are finally going well after waiting for so long. Malcolm knows what he wants, and so does Nicola. They get a bright idea and decide to follow through on it, letting the press know about their reconnection and relationship. They're going to find out some day, right? Damage control is hoping for the best, preparing for the worst, and trying not to bugger anything up along the way.
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Series: Carving A New Life [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470488
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	About Fucking Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for being wonderful, faithful followers of this series. More to come. Thank you. Seriously.

The sun was just beginning to set. Raindrops were starting to fall outside. It was peaceful, tranquil. Inside of Malcolm’s little townhouse in Fulham, there was only silence. 

Nicola was lying in bed with Malcolm. The evening before he’d gone to her home and kissed her, _told her_ how he’d felt. They had seen her ex-husband, and listened to his insults. When they were alone again, they had made love. God but it was incredible. 

They slept in one another’s arms in her bed that night. In the morning, she’d found him making coffee in the kitchen. It all felt so terribly domestic. And later that day, they had gone to his house. She had packed an overnight bag and went along with him, without question and with a smile. They ordered a takeaway for dinner, enjoying it at his small kitchen table, over a bottle of pinot noir. 

Now, with nighttime arriving, they were lying in one another’s arms in bed. All it had taken was a well-timed kiss, her own bit of magic, and he’d tumbled into bed with her. It was fantastic. She was a fabulous shag. Honestly, James had no idea what he was missing...

“You’re so bony,” she mumbled softly, propped up on an arm now. The fingers of her opposite hand were blazing a trail up his body, from his belly to his chest, and then around to his ribs. “I feel like I should cook a mountain of food for you,” she added fondly. “Anything to get a bit of meat on you, Malcolm.”

His eyebrow rose, gray-green eyes resting lazily on her features. He rather thought she’d never looked so at peace before. He was the reason for that. For once, he was the reason.

“Offering tae fuckin’ cook for me now, are ye?” 

His voice was low, rough. Husky. She’d worn him out. It gave her a ripple of pleasure just to know it.

“Yeah, I suppose I am,” she replied with a warm laugh, shifting slightly to hook her knees on either side of his hips and sit atop him. “Why didn’t we do this years ago, Malcolm?”

His hands trailed along her toned thighs and came to rest on her hips, a thumb caressing her skin. Really, if she thought he would have been all dominant and rough, she was only going to be shocked. He _could_ be, but something in her brought out the tenderness in him. That wasn’t to say, of course, that he wasn’t rough and dominant when the mood called for such a thing. But he was tender and sweet, too. The exact opposite of what anyone would have thought the former Dark Knight of Downing Street, the Witcher of Westminster could have _ever_ been like. Something about last night and tonight had called for tenderness and delicacy. 

“Because we’re fuckin’ idiots,” he told her quietly, honestly. A soft chuckle tumbled from his lips and he gave her bottom a wee smack, adding, “But it was worth the wait, wouldnae ye say?” 

She may or may not have let out the tiniest of squeaks at his playful slap and she leant down to him, kissing him long and slow, her teeth finding his lower lip. She let it snap back into place after releasing it, her nose just barely brushing his own. 

“Well worth the wait,” she agreed, finally moving to roll off of him. Leaning down to the carpeted floor, she stole his wrinkled shirt, slipping it on and beginning to work the buttons closed. 

He laid there, his eyes resting on her and admiring every single inch of her. He didn’t even care that he was bare arsed and gooseflesh was cropping up along his arms from the cool air in the room. He let his head fall back to rest on the bed and he sighed, sated, sleepy, and content. 

Eventually, after pulling himself out of bed, he found her in the kitchen. She was making tea. She cast a glance his way, noting the Celtic FC tee and the flannel pajama bottoms he’d slipped on before joining her. Bare-footed, hair a right mess, his eyes soft and his cheeks pink. He looked every inch the man she _wanted_ him to be. Relaxed, happy, and content. He deserved that. They both fucking did after everything they had gone through over the years. 

As she tidied up the counter in the kitchen, he came over to stand behind her. He was so tall, compared to her. If he wanted to, his chin could have come to rest atop her head. He almost chuckled at the thought, instead dropping a kiss to her hair and speaking quietly. 

“I dinnae want tae hide from the public,” he murmured. “If it’s what ye want, though, we can. But, fuck, I’m tired of hiding away. That life is behind me now, but I know yer still… very happily in the fuckin’ mess that is politics at the moment. What do ye want?” 

He took her breath away, honestly. She paused, a hand covering the one he had resting on her hip. Her fingers ran along his knuckles, sweet and gentle, as she thought about his little confession. “You know,” she began, “of all the people I expected to hear those words from, you were definitely not on the list. Wanting to hide away from the public’s eye was always your _modus operandi._ I thought you’d still want that, especially now, after everything and how it ended.” 

He gave her a long look before explaining himself. “It’s damage control,” he clarified. “They’re gonnae find out about us anyway, ye know? We might as well come right out and say it now, while we have the chance tae do so. I’m worried about yer career is all. But mark my words, darlin’, the mass hoard of vampire hacks _will_ find out about us. They’ll descend upon us for a fuckin’ feeding frenzy and we’ll be lunch. We cannae hide forever. If we fire the first shot, maybe we can control the situation. No shrapnel will fire back towards us, ye know? Let’s jump before we’re pushed and all that rot.”

She kissed his chin gently. “Fuck it, you’re probably right,” she said with a huff. “You’re always right, anyway. Maddening that. Fine. Fine, fine. We’ll tell anyone who asks. We’ll tell the press. We’ll tell the story _our way,_ before people can jump to conclusions, and it’ll be alright.”

That day, they spent time out in the garden. He even texted Jamie to tell him what was going on. He’d been curious, even a bit prying, the night at Julius’ house. He’d known there was far more to the story than Malcolm was letting on. Fucking sniffer dog that he was. 

They spent the afternoon out in the garden, soaking up the bit of sunshine that was gracing London today. It was warm and honestly wonderful. 

“I saw Glenn Cullen last week,” Nicola began, tossing an amused look in Malcolm's direction. 

His brow rose at that, although a wee niggle of guilt at the last time he’d seen the man dug at him. Glenn had begged for something, _anything,_ a way out. He’d only stepped on him and tossed him aside. He ignored the horrible pit in his stomach, though, and asked, “Oh, ae? And what happened?” 

She shrugged a shoulder, raising her glass of wine to her lips for a little sip. “He looked… good. Happier. He’s working for a private company now, he said. He looked years younger. Fuck. Really. I was shocked. Maybe that’s what being away from politics can do for you, right?” 

Malcolm laughed softly. “No for me, luv. I still look fuckin’ ancient and decrepit, like some old Tenth Dynasty Pharaoh from Egypt. Maybe he’s just lucky.” 

She laughed, the sort of laugh that _twisted_ him inside in the best sort of way. She laughed with every little bit of herself, tossing her head back and genuinely enjoying it. He loved that about her. He was so fucked and he knew it. 

“You are _not_ ancient, Malcolm. We’ve been going at one another like rabbits for the past few days. An old man _certainly_ wouldn’t be able to keep that up now, would he? Besides, I think… your white hair is rather sexy. You make a good _silver fox._ You look better than you ever did before, back when… we led much different lives. Years ago. God knows you were sexy then, too. Took everything in me not to throw myself at you when we fought. You and Glenn both look much better now, though. You look happier. And honestly, it’s about fucking time. Especially for you. You deserve some peace.” 

He made a soft _pfft_ sound, which earned a faux stern look from the woman opposite him. 

“Whatever ye say, Nic’la. Yer out of her tiny shiny mind, but that’s alright. Some things never change. I’m honestly no surprised.”

_Some things never really did change, did they?_

_And others did._ Things were much, much better now.

It was a week later, as he went to pick up Nicola from the office, that he bumped into Carey Walsh, her personal assistant. Carey was a slim young thing, bright, clever, and helpful. She genuinely cared about Nicola. They two not only held a good working relationship but also seemed to be _friends_ outside of the office. 

“Hello,” she said, as cheerful as ever. 

As much as he hated her attitude, as much as he loathed people who were constantly bubbles of happiness and joy, he offered her a smile in return. “Miss Walsh, right?” he asked. “Nic’la’s told me about ye.” 

Carey’s eyebrow shot up at that. “All good things, I hope?” 

He laughed softly and stabbed the lift button. They were both headed upstairs. “Nothing bad, I promise,” he quipped in reply. 

A beat or two passed them by, as they stepped onto the waiting lift. The doors shut gently behind them and he asked, “Has she talked to ye?” He was testing the waters, if she couldn’t immediately tell. He wanted to know how close they were. He wanted to see how trustworthy she was.

“Yes,” she said quietly, polite enough to look ahead and not gawk at him. “She’s told me about you two, and that you plan to come out with the news. Better to tell the story _your way_ , I think, than for the press to find out the bad way. That’d be a hell we don’t want to deal with. This past week was rather quiet and we’re hoping this one will be as well. We’re working on some new policies.” 

Something of a devious grin found his lips. “Good. Because we’re going to her place tonight and we’re going to let everyone know what’s going on. As soon as we step out of this building, we’re gonnae do our best to be as fuckin’ obvious as we can be. That way, when the news hits tomorrow, we can do damage control. I’ll call in a few favors from the old days. It’ll be fine.” 

Carey looked impressed. His mind was apparently just as sharp as it had ever been. Clever man that he was. He could move mountains with his political prowess, and apparently that had never changed. He was still very capable. 

“Okay,” she said. “We can do that. We can work with that. That’s a good plan.”

He wanted to say something about how fucking glad he was that Nicola had a fairly bright and competent team these days, good advisers and media strategists and all that shit, but the words wouldn’t leave his lips. He wasn’t very good at this, was he? 

As they stepped off of the lift, on the third floor now, Carey caught his attention by speaking again.

“Malcolm?” she piped up. He turned towards her and she continued. “I know it’s not my place, not at all, but I just wanted to say… I’m thrilled you two bumped into one another again. Here, of all places. I’m glad your new company brought you here a while ago.”  
  
He was surprised by that. Apparently she knew _far more_ than he’d previously thought. Maybe she and Nicola were much closer than just _casual_ friends. She probably knew the whole story, from start to fucking finish. Well, good for Nicola. She deserved a confidant of sorts. Someone, especially, who wouldn’t use her words against her when it suited them to do so.

He only smiled, albeit a bit bashfully, before wandering off to find Nicola’s office. 

_This had to work._

_Everything would be just fine._


End file.
